


Truth or Dare

by within_a_dream



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Come as Lube, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21691156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/within_a_dream/pseuds/within_a_dream
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 13
Kudos: 169
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2019





	Truth or Dare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AMintJulep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMintJulep/gifts).



It had begun like any other mission, Napoleon and Illya sneaking through a basement window in search of a file. The house was Pierre Delafield’s – he’d been making his scientists cook up some nasty concoctions that UNCLE wanted taken off of his hands. Security was tight, but nothing they hadn’t dealt with before.

The stairs creaked. Not loud, and if their intel was correct, there shouldn’t have been anyone in the house to hear it. But the sound set Napoleon’s heart jumping anyway. The rest of the stairs passed quietly, and he’d convinced himself it was all fine by the time he and Illya reached the top.

Delafield was waiting for them when they opened the door.

Five men with Delafield, and Napoleon had seen Illya take on bigger groups alone and win. But cornered in a narrow stairway, even Illya didn’t stand a chance. Illya went back down the stairs headfirst after a boot to the chest, and Napoleon raised his hands in surrender and walked down of his own volition. Illya would mock him for that in the debrief after, Napoleon was sure, but better that one of them was fresh to fight if a chance came up.

"Take them to the laboratory," Delafield said with a wave of his hand, and his cronies began to drag Napoleon and Illya off to some shadowy corner of the basement. Napoleon was mildly offended that he only warranted one man to the four keeping hold of Illya, even if that one man did have a gun pressed to the back of his head.

Laboratories, in Napoleon’s experience, were never good, but this one was particularly ominous. There was a table with worn straps in the center of the room (what _was_ it with these sorts of men and tying people to tables?) and a table filled with vials against the wall.

"You two have been quite rude, coming into my home unannounced," Delafield said, smiling smarmily at Napoleon and Illya in turn. "But your arrival is quite fortuitous for me, really. I’ve been looking for someone to test my newest invention on. Now, I’ll give you a choice. This vial-" he picked up a tube holding a clear liquid from the table "-holds a very potent truth serum of my own devising. This-" another vial with a red-tinted serum, something like the color of blood in the water "-is another special treat, fresh from animal trials. I would so love to see what it does to humans, but I’m afraid you won’t enjoy it at all. Which would you like?"

Napoleon had, of course, been trained to resist the most common formulations of truth serum, as had every other agent of UNCLE. But he’d seen some of Delafield’s other concoctions at work, and he didn’t think much of his chances. The soldier Delafield had injected with the enhancement drug that had brought them here had killed eightsoldiers with his bare hands and injured a further dozen before he was taken down, and Napoleon had no doubt that the man’s truth serum was similarly effective. Whatever tortures the other drug would inflict, it would at least give him and Illya enough time to formulate an escape before they began spilling all of their secrets.

"We’ll take what’s behind door number two," Napoleon said.

"Oh, wonderful." Delafield filled a syringe, stabbing it into Napoleon’s arm before he had a chance to react. Illya, with the advantage of foreknowledge, nearly managed to break free of the men holding him before Delafield stuck him. Napoleon had a few moments to think _is that all?_ before the wave of nausea hit him. He fell to his knees, only vaguely aware of Delafield’s man releasing him. When the world stopped spinning, Illya was on the ground as well, and Delafield and his men had retreated behind a glass wall. Napoleon didn’t like thinking about how many others Delafield must have injected and observed in this basement.

Illya looked like he was taking it worse than Napoleon, head in his hands and face deathly pale. He was bigger than Napoleon, they might have given him a bigger dose to compensate. The nausea had faded, leaving a floating feeling like particularly good painkillers. He’d expected torturous pain, strange mutations, something horrific, and the lack of it made him uneasy. Although it was hard to hold onto that uneasiness, the euphoria overwhelming him.

Illya still hadn’t gotten up. He should be concerned about that, Napoleon thought, and so he made his way over to put a hand on Illya’s arm.

"You all right there, Peril?" Illya’s skin was warm under his hand, and Napoleon had the absurd urge to hug him. He wanted to be closer – Illya’s body felt wonderfully firm when they sparred, and Napoleon wondered what it would feel like under a gentler touch. He smelled like the soap in their hotel room, and the bruise blooming under his eyefrom that fall down the stairs made his skin stand out in contrast. Napoleon wanted to kiss it.

Mother _fucker_ , he knew what the serum was. And the more he looked at Illya, the more desperate he became for skin-to-skin contact. His dick was hard now, and he was practically drooling looking at the planes of Illya’s chest through his shirt.

"The effects are taking hold, I see." Delafield’s voice was tinny, piped through a speaker in the glass. "You’ll want to give in to your desires, the sooner the better. You won’t like the results of holding back."

Napoleon’s heart was racing. When he tried to look away from Illya, the nausea returned, like his stomach was in an ever-tightening vise. All right, then. He’d had sex while on mic before, and Delafield watching wasn’t that much more humiliating than Sanders or Waverly listening in. They only needed to delay things until an opportunity presented itself or the extraction team made it in, and then Napoleon would make sure all evidence of this was wiped away, Delafield included.

One look at Illya’s face showed he wouldn’t share Napoleon’s nonchalance. He was biting his lip so fiercely that it must have been near bleeding, avoiding any eye contact with Napoleon. Well, it had to be done. Napoleon pressed his lips to Illya’s ear, feeling him shudder at the contact. "Let me handle this. We’ll play this likeAnkara." There had been a laboratory there as well, and nearly as many armed men. It was just a matter of waiting for the right distraction.

"I can’t," Illya said through clenched teeth. "Not with them watching, not with--"

_Not with you_ , Napoleon worried that phrase would have ended. Not the best time to be reminded that his idle admiration of his partner would never be reciprocated, but he really had no right to be upset about it. Neither of them were at their best.

"If we don’t, I have no doubt Delafield has designed this to make our testicles explode, or something equally unpleasant." That drew a laugh, which made Napoleon flush with pride. God, he was as horny and lovesick as a teenager; damn Delafield and his chemistry set. He unzipped Illya’s fly, waiting for resistance that never came. He’d intended to play the gentleman and suck Illya off, hoping that that would satisfy whatever Delafield and his concoction wanted from them, but as soon as he got his hand on Illya’s cock, Illya was coming, hot and sticky in Napoleon’s hand.

Change of plans, then. Napoleon divested Illya of his pants with his clean hand, Illya’s pliant compliance going straight to his dick. "Have you ever done this before?" he asked, pressing a come-slick finger to Illya’s ass.

Illya shook his head, flushing a bright red.

"I’ll make sure you enjoy it. Don’t worry, I’m very good at what I do."

"Always so cocky, cowboy." Illya’s voice was shaky, but the sniping had to be a good sign. Napoleon worked a finger inside Illya, and God, fucking his partner with his own come was straight out of Napoleon’s dreams. Shame it was facilitated by a power-mad villain.

Illya bucked into Napoleon’s motions, not saying anything but looking like he would very much like to be begging for more. Never let it be said that Napoleon Solo didn’t give his lovers what they wanted. He pressed his dick to Illya’s asshole, working his way in slowly until Illya relaxed underneath him.

It was all he could do to hold onto that pace until he was buried in Illya. The drug was pulsing through his veins, making him feel hot and horny as a rabbit and desperate for more. He hadn’t even managed to get his pants off, only slid them down just far enough to get his dick out; a drawn-out fucking was asking far too much. He began to fuck Illya like his life depended on it, and Illya grabbed onto Napoleon’s shoulders hard enough to bruise and drew him closer. It was a sloppy and furious coupling, less artful lovemaking than frantic humping and desperate gasps. When Napoleon had let himself imagine what Illya would be like in bed, he’d assumed Illya would want to take charge. He’d barely dared imagine an Illya who would be interested in him at all, and an Illya willingly letting himself be fucked was out of the question. And yet here he was, face a mess of bliss and shame as Napoleon fucked him, and Napoleon couldn’t even enjoy it.

Well, physically he could. Illya’s tight ass and little breathless gasps went straight to Napoleon’s cock, and it was no use pretending otherwise. But that arousal came along with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, a guilt he was altogether unaccustomed to. He wanted this when they were alone together, when he could kiss the worry off of Illya’s lips and tell him how beautiful he looked when he was enjoying himself. Instead there was some bastard mad scientist watching them screw on a concrete floor, and the thing was, it was still the best sex Napoleon had had in years.

All too soon, it was over, Napoleon coming with a shout that he buried in Illya’s shoulder. No time to waste basking in the afterglow. "Are you ready?"

He’d worried that the sex would prove too distracting, or that Illya hadn’t followed what he meant to do. More fool him, forgetting that his partner was just as good at this as he was. Illya gave the smallest of nods, and Napoleon pulled his belt off under the guise of more fully disrobing. A glance at Delafield to make sure he wasn’t watching too closely, and then Napoleon flung the belt at the window. Smoke filled the room, and Napoleon scrambled for the canister he’d seen on the table. It was painfully cold to the touch, just as he’d hoped. He threw that at the window as well, seeing Illya do his pants up out of the corner of his eye as he watched an icy film spread across the glass.

The glass shattered as Illya charged at it, and before Delafield and his cronies could react, Illya had grabbed the gun from one of them and knocked two others to the ground. Napoleon took another down, and then grabbed a gun that had fallen along with one of the henchmen and shot the only man still standing in the leg. As he howled and fell to the floor, Illya pressed the gun to Delafield’s temple.

"You really should have stripped us first," Napoleon said, smiling congenially at Delafield. "Don’t be too down on yourself, better men than you have made the same mistake."

"You are going to be a good boy and show us to your formulas," Illya growled, tightening his grip on Delafield’s shoulder.

Delafield, hands shaking, led them to a file cabinet in the corner of the room. By the time backup arrived, they had Delafield and his men tied up and the files in hand.

"You’re late," Napoleon said when Gaby descended the stairs.

"I assumed you could handle yourselves," she said, wiping a speck of blood from her cheek. "And you did, it seems."

Napoleon shot Illya a glance. "We did, in the end."


End file.
